


The Night of the Hund

by LCWells



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCWells/pseuds/LCWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a snowy night in Washington D.C., Artemus Gordon and James West meet up with a German countess... and three werewolves. First published Back to the Wild Wild West, 1994</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night of the Hund

Artemus Gordon, Secret Service agent to President Ulysses S. Grant, pivoted and the satin skirts of the lovely woman in his arms swung in a giant circle. She laughed, and leaned back against his restraining arm, forcing him to hold her more tightly as they waltzed.

 

He smiled, his dark brown eyes showing admiration. Lady Amelita von Gesner was a German noblewoman recently arrived in America, and her imperial bearing and winning ways had gained her entry into the top levels of Washington society.

 

“Why, Mr. Gordon,” she said charmingly, “You waltz better than my husband.”

 

“I am honored by the comparison. Where is your husband?” Gordon asked.

 

“Alas, poor Johannes is no longer with me in this world. But he was a wonderful dancer.”

 

The music ended and Arte reluctantly released her.

 

Her blue eyes sparkled as she tapped his arm with her fan. “Mr. Gordon, may I, perhaps, ask you for a favor?”

 

He wondered at her daring. European manners were different from American but if she was not careful, the Countess von Gesner might not be part of society for long. Asking favors of a man she met only twice? Still he was not going to pass up an opportunity. “Certainly, Countess.”

 

She smiled. “It is quite late and I had rented a carriage to bring me here, but one of the footman has informed me that it is gone. May I – “

 

“Please let me escort you home,” he said gallantly. “On such a snowy night, a lady shouldn’t go home without someone to ensure her safety.”

 

“I had hoped you would say that, Mr. Gordon,” she trilled as her new partner, a young man who was swallowing nervously, approached them. “An hour then?

 

“I await the moment eagerly,” he replied bowing over her perfumed glove.

 

 

Secret Service agent James West wrapped his heavy scarf tighter around his neck and pulled his hat down over his forehead, leaving only a slit to see through. His horse made slow progress through mounds of frozen snow-covered slush. Buildings loomed around him, shadowy in the snowy night. Only the occasional ray of light from a curtained window revealed that the buildings were occupied. This had to be one of the worst snowstorms that ever hit Washington, he reflected, as snowflakes sifted down his overcoat’s collar.

 

He nearly rode over the policeman who was hailing him.

 

“You seen anything out here tonight, Mister?” the man asked, his words muffled by his muffler. In the elbow crook of his heavy jacket, he carried a shotgun, covered with burlap.

 

“Anything, officer?”

 

“Dog. Probably a wild one. We’ve had words that it’s out tonight.”

 

West looked around at the mountains of snow. He wasn’t sure any person would be stupid enough to put their dog out in the cold. “Haven’t seen a thing.”

 

“Keep a good eye out, sir,” the policeman advised him. “About a week ago, we found a body all torn up from an attack just a mile away.”

 

“Good luck finding the dog, officer.” West tipped his hat fractionally then rode onwards towards the dim gaslights of the Capital.

 

He heard a muffled scream and turned in the saddle, looking back. The policeman was down, a shadowy figure on his back. Its growl was audible even to West. He reached beneath his coat and pulled out his gun.

 

The dog was tearing at the man’s collar, growling as it yanked, and the man was trying to roll and dislodge it. West fired in the air to scare the animal off.

 

It seemed to look at him with uncanny intelligence, then fled down a dark alley as he fired again, hitting it from the yelp of pain.

 

The dog hadn’t bitten through the policeman’s coat but the man was badly shaken up. West left his mount and followed the prints. Judging from the blood splotches he had only wounded the animal slightly.

 

 

Gordon wondered why Amelita had asked him to escort her home of all the men she had danced with that night. He didn’t underestimate his charms but Washington society was filled with eligible young men who might be more to the Countess’ taste.  For example, if his partner, James West, was around, Gordon might run a real risk of being cut out with the Countess.

 

And where exactly WAS West? Gordon knew that James had planned to be back from nearby Fort Reno by early evening. Even with the heavy snowfall, the younger man should have arrived at the party hours ago. Gordon felt a trace of unease. The snow was falling harder and harder.

 

 

 

West dropped to one knee beside a scuffed patch of snow. Blood splattered around it as if the dog had rolled in the powder.

 

The trail led down an alley that ran between the fenced yards of two sets of row houses.

 

He followed the blood into one yard and up to the small privy set slightly back from the back door.

 

The door was cracked ajar.

 

He approached cautiously, his gun cocked. The icy chill down his spine wasn’t just from the wind.

 

He kicked open the door and aimed.

 

West didn’t expect to find a naked man inside. Blood was flowing from one should and the smell of the privy was enough to make the Secret Service man gag.

 

The wounded man groaned and opened his eyes. They went wider seeing a stranger with a gun at the door.

 

“You’re hurt! Let’s get you inside,” West ordered, holstering his gun. “There must be someone home.”

 

The back door was open and he hauled the man into the vacant kitchen. It was dimly lit by light leaking from a banked stove and silent after the howling wind outside.

 

He let the man sink on a chair beside the trestle table and looked around. Turning the key, the gaslight by the door brightened till he could see the kitchen clearly.

 

It was painfully clean and barren with a few pots hanging from the wall and oilskin over the small window above the sink. A kettle sat on a back burner of a banked pot-bellied iron stove. To one side were a pile of linen napkins next to some ladles, and several glasses were set to dry.

 

Some clothing hung from a hook beside the door, a shirt and a pair of pants. Worn boots were tidily set beneath them.

 

West threw a dry log on the banked coals of the stove where it caught up with a crackle and warmth slowed filled the room. He put a small pot of water on the stove to boil, then walked around to the man’s side.

 

He frowned slightly. “That’s a bullet hole, friend,” he said under his breath.

 

The man’s eyes opened again, squinting against the gaslight. “Bitten…”

 

“Who are you?” West asked.

 

“I… my clothes…” the man said haltingly in German-accented English.

 

“Dappa?” called a child’s voice.

 

West saw a small girl, around three perhaps, on the threshold of the door at the other end of the room. She wore a nightgown of white cotton edged with ruffled lace and her golden hair curled around her round face.

 

Aware the man was naked, West stepped between her and him.

 

“Dappa?” she said again inquiringly, cocking her blond head.

 

“Now what are you doing out of bed?’ West said reassuringly. “Go back upstairs.”

 

“No!” the child said challengingly. “Want Dappa!”

 

Behind West, the man stirred and said something in German. The child looked at West, and then stepped inside the kitchen.

 

West intercepted her, taking her hand and leading her back into the hallway. “Let’s get you to bed, young lady.”

 

She looked distrustfully at him, her hand trying to escape his hard one. “No. Hungry!”

 

 “Yes,” he replied firmly.” “I’ll bring you some milk. Later.”

 

“No!” she pulled away and squatted down rebelliously.

 

West’s experience with children was small but he recognized sheer stubbornness when he saw it. He picked her up and carried her into the main hall where the staircase was. She began to scream and beat on his shoulders as he climbed to the second floor and deposited her on the feather bed with relief.

 

Looking around he saw the room was tidy with toys stacked beside an ornate dollhouse. Heavy curtains covered most of one window which he noticed curiously had bars in it. A jarring element was a cage at one end of the room. It could hold a small dog from the size.

 

West wondered for a second where the creature was then realized the cage was probably unused. There were no dishes for food or water, and only a thin mat covering the bottom. A chain lock dangled from the door.

 

Looking around he saw the chair legs had been gnawed at the bottom. They must let the dog run loose in the child’s room. It might be anywhere in the house. He had better watch out.

 

The child’s face was turning beet red as she screamed. She grabbed a cushion and threw it at him, then began to throw the quilts and bedclothes on the floor around her.

 

He could recognize a tantrum as well as any man, though usually the ladies throwing things at him were older. West backed away closing the heavy wooden door behind him and put a small table against it so the child couldn’t follow him.

 

He walked down the uncarpeted staircase into the foyer. One of the gaslights by the door illuminating two dim shapes flanking the door. Twin massive swords, heavy Germanic blades in leather sheathes, hung point down. He paused to examine them.

 

West guessed the blades dated from the seventeenth century by their styling. The hilts were worn, though silver showed in the cracks of grooving. The metal was stained as if the swords hadn’t been drawn or cleaned for a hundred years.

 

He glanced closely at the engravings at the pommel. The insignia of a running dog bringing down some small prey. The von Gesner family crest.

 

 _Amelita von Gesner? Was this her house?_ West had flirted with the woman on several occasions but found her cold as ice and as brittle. The woman assumed her astonishing beauty would cover her social faults. West refused to overlook her bad manners.

 

He looked around noticing the furnishings. She must have brought some of these items with her from Germany though most of the furnishing were rented with the house from their worn look. The swords, the rug under feet, the huge crystal vase that flanked the door to the living room weren’t American.

 

West heard a noise from the back of the house. Apparently “Dappa” was awake. He went back to the kitchen.

 

 

The carriage stopped outside the tall row house and Gordon dismounted struggling against fierce wind. He rapped on the door. The woman peered from the carriage waiting for him to return once the door was open.

 

 

He rapped again. The sound was almost swallowed in the howling wind.

 

Finally he tried the doorknob. The icy chill of the metal numbed his hand even through his gloves, but the door opened.

 

Inside was dark. He saw the flame feebly flicking in the gaslight and turned it up higher, then jumped, startled. The swords were ghostly menaces. With a grim sigh, he returned outside

 

Telling the cabby to wait, he lifted the Countess out of the carriage and carried her inside.

  
She smiled playfully at him as he set her down. The cloak slid off her shoulders to fall in a heap on the snowy carpet. “This storm is almost as bad as a German blizzard!” she whispered lightly.

 

“Countess, I must be going or that cabby is going to freeze!” Gordon resettled his cloak around his shoulders and replaced his snow-soaked top hat on his head.

 

“No, please, Mr. Gordon, please stay,” she requested laying her hand on his shoulder. “I insist you stay for a drink at least.”

 

“Countess – “

 

“I insist, Mr. Gordon. Just come with me into the parlor.”

 

“But the cabby!”” he protested.

 

She flashed him a charming smile. “I told him to leave.”

 

 

West found the man in the same position where he had left him, head cradled in crossed arms.

 

The water was boiling and West used a napkin to sponge clean the man’s wounds. The bullet must have just grazed the man.

 

‘Dappa’ raised his head to star at West. “Who…are…you?” he asked in a ghostly whisper. It was almost unintelligible.

 

“James West of the government. What were doing outside without any clothes on?”

 

The man stared at him bleary-eyed as West bandaged the wound then helped him put the shirt on. “Zeit…Anna…”

 

“Let’s get you to bed.” West helped Dappa down the hallway to what he assumed was the man’s quarters.

 

Newspapers littered the room, mostly in German. West helped Dappa onto the bed, then cast a quilt over the prone body. “Sleep well.”

           

Something crashed and he swung around alertly.

 

“Either a tree has fallen or someone’s come home. I think it’s time to find out,” he murmured. Checking the man who had fallen into a stupor, West walked towards the main hall.

 

 

Gordon blew on the fire until it lit the fresh log he had put on the embers, and then replaced the fire screen. The room was crammed with small tables, loaded with pictures, and a closed piano which sat at one end by closed curtained windows. Opposite the fireplace was a large couch decadently loaded with pillows and covered with a crazy quilt. Small rugs dotted the hardwood floors rather than the carpets he was used to seeing in modern houses.

 

She entered the room, a small frown cut between her brows, but she smiled as she saw him standing by the mantelpiece.

 

He replaced the small daguerreotype he had been examining.

 

“The Count?”

 

Amelita smiled. “Johannes and I, yes, at our Schloss Hund.”

 

“And the little girl?”

 

“My daughter, Anna, who is three. She’s upstairs asleep, I hope.

 

“Lovely. Did those swords belong to him?”

 

She frowned. “Yes, the family sent them to me. I can’t imagine why since they know I despise them. I have never liked silver and those blades were plated by Johannes’ grandfather.” She poured two glasses of wine. “I must thank you again, Mr. Gordon, for bringing me home tonight.”

 

He sipped the wine. It tasted of windflowers in honey, a thick syrupy taste on his tongue. “It was nothing, Countess—“

 

“I asked you to call me Amelita,” she reproved, toasting him with her crystal flute. “I hope you didn’t think me overly bold, Mr. Gordon, inviting you inside without a chaperone.”

 

He took another sip of wine. “You have no servants, Amelita?

 

“Only Dollfus who takes care of Anna for me. He is one of my husband’s half-brothers. She calls him ‘Dappa’’ though I don’t know why. I had hoped he would greet us but I suppose he’s still out somewhere.”

 

Gordon finished the last of the wine and licked his lips. It was quite tasty once you were used to the sweetness. “I have enjoyed our evening, but I do have a train to catch so...”

 

Everything blurred. Gordon lifted his hand to his face and felt sweat on his brow. He must have been sitting by the fire too long. He shook his head.

 

She put down her glass. “Mr. Gordon, please sit down. You look pale.”

 

“I feel tired,” he muttered stumbling over a small rug. One of the pewter pictures fell on the floor as his coat caught the edge of a table. He sank into the plush cushions of the couch.

 

“You have had a tiring day,” she said. Her hands stroked his dark hair off his forehead.

 

“Is this your house?” he asked trying to deny his sudden exhaustion.

 

She leaned forward, her perfume filling his nostrils. “I rented it for the season but soon I’ll be leaving. My husband’s family has sent me my share of the family wealth for me and Anna.”

 

“You’ll be going home then,” he muttered.

 

“No. That would be futile and fatal. The family has disowned us. I think we will go west where Anna can run free.”

 

“West…West!” Gordon struggled upward. “What happened to James? I have to go...”

 

“No, Mr. Gordon, you must stay,” Amelita whispered looking up into his eyes. She was sitting close to him almost into his lap, lips inches away from his. “Besides I want you.”

 

She walked over to the fire, loosening her blond hair from the intricate knot and laying the combs on the mantelpiece. She began to unbutton her dress silhouetted by the firelight.

 

Gordon watched sluggishly. He wished he felt well enough to appreciate what was going to be happening.

 

 

West paused in the hallway seeing two cloaks on the table. One was dark tweed and the other thick blue wool. He touched the tweed, recognizing the distinctive cut. Artemus Gordon’s? The fabric was still dripping so it had to have been hung there a little while before.

 

Upstairs he heard a howl and began running. The dog!

 

 

Gordon was almost immobile. Amelita von Gesner looked like a pre-Raphaelite virgin as she laid her ball gown neatly on the closed piano. She came over and ran her hand along his face down to his collar, loosening it so his throat was exposed.

 

“My husband taught me a great deal before he was shot. He taught me to control the change so I could do it when wished rather than only at a full moon. Anna unfortunately changes every time she gets extremely upset so I have to cage her but she’ll learn in time to control herself. I hate ruining my clothes so I always strip. Johannes was so sorry that he passed on the curse but I rather like it. Mr. Gordon, I will try to make this fast but sometimes I just like to play.  And besides I have to make sure of what I feed Anna tonight is tasty.”

 

She backed away and knelt, her blond tresses falling down her bare shoulders and the firelight rounding every voluptuous curve. Amelita threw back her head and howled.

 

 

West tore up the stairs, his gun ready. He saw the gaslights turned up and head the crackle of fire from the parlor, and turned in, stopping abruptly.

 

The dog was a delicately built animal, spun blond fur shading to tawny at the tips. Its blue eyes were staring at the man lying prone on the couch as foam appeared on its lips.

 

West fired missing the dog by a fraction as it leapt.

 

The hound landed on Gordon’s chest just below his exposed throat. It bared its teeth and growled.

 

West fired again, clipping the animal in the ruff, sending it to the ground. It turned and snarled, crouching to spring,

 

West moved towards the piano bench trying to get a clear shot. The dog circled him, and then sprang.

 

Before he knew it, the animal landed on him. He jammed his arm between the slavering jaws, feeling teeth score his heavy overcoat. He pulled the trigger. Bullets hit it several times, and the body hit the back of the couch.

 

Looking into the eyes, he could have sworn he saw a calculated glitter. Why wasn’t it dying? Three bullets should kill any animal!

 

West rolled into the foyer coming up against the front door jamb.

 

The dog staggered as it regained its footing and crouched to leap for him.

 

He grabbed the sword above him, and swung it, hilt first, at the dog. It yelped and retreated. He tore the wrapping uncovering the silver blade.

 

West flipped the weapon and lunged forward, driving the blade into the animal’s throat.

 

It screamed, a woman’s scream. The noise haunted West for months.

 

Staggering backward the dog began to paw at the silver blade.

 

West watched in fascinating, then horror, as the tawny hair shortened and disappeared except in two spots. The tail vanished and the claws shorted to become the polished nails of a beautiful naked woman clawing the carpet, her throat impaled on the sword. Her eyes looked at him in dismay for a moment, then closed. Her body went limp.

 

“James…?” Gordon sounded weak as he slumped against the door to the room.

 

West saw that he was as pale as the snow outside. Gordon’s gun dangled from his loose grip.

 

“I’m fine, Arte,” West said in shaky reassurance, pulling himself upwards.

 

“Did she bite you?”

 

West checked hastily seeing the coat’s cloth was shredded. “No, she didn’t reach my skin. How about you?”

 

“No…she changed back! No wonder she hated silver blades. She was a were—JAMES!”

 

Dappa burst into the foyer with an anguished cry. He was changing shape as he leapt becoming the wild dog that West tracked.

 

Gordon fired hitting the dog-man directly in the heart. Dappa went flying back landing in a heap.

 

Then he struggled upright again.

 

Gordon’s jaw dropped in amazement.

 

West pulled the sword from Amelita’s body and threw it like a lance, hitting Dappa in the chest. The man collapsed like a puppet.

 

The two men looked from one to the each other with astonishment in their eyes.

 

“It was the silver in the blade that killed, Jim. The Countess’ family knew that they were werewolves. She said her grandfather-in-law silver-plated the swords.”

 

“Why keep them then?”

 

“Arrogance maybe? Or just flirting with fate?” Gordon pushed himself off the jamb, then steadied himself as he swayed.

 

“We’ll have to report his,” West began in an uncertain tone.

 

“What are you going to say? That the most beautiful woman in Washington was a bitch when she died?”

 

West shot him a frustrated look. “What do you have in mind, Arte?”

 

“Well…”

 

Then, from upstairs, they head that sound that chilled their bloods, especially West’s. It was the high-pitched howl of a hungry puppy.

 

The two men exchanged looks of horror.

 

“Anna,” Gordon whispered.

 

“There has to be another way,” West said flatly. “Not a child.”

 

“What orphanage is going to take her, Jim? The Countess knew Anna had inherited the family curse!”

 

“There has to be another way.”

 

“What?

 

West looked upstairs, his face closed and cold.

 

Suddenly there was a crash as a door gave way and both men heard the scrabbling of claws as the puppy ran towards the staircase.

 

West grabbed the sword from the other side of the doorway and pulled it from the sheath. “Get out of here, Arte!”

 

“Watch out, James!”

 

For several days the talk of the town was of the fire at the Countess von Gesner’s rented house. It had burned uncontrollably, charring the bodies of the two people inside beyond recognition. Firemen were perplexed to find the body of a puppy impaled on a half-melted sword lying by the woman’s body while the other sword was buried in the chest of a dead man.

 

When questioned by the police, Mr. Artemus Gordon, who had escorted the Countess home, explained that he had had a drink with her, and then excused himself to meet his partner, James West, who was awaiting him for their next assignment. Mr. West had confirmed Mr. Gordon’s arrival at the train a full half-hour before the fire was reported, thereby giving Mr. Gordon an alibi.  Vouched for by the head of the Secret Service, the two men left town shortly after the inquiry on their next assignment.

 

 

Years later, James West was attacked by a ‘werewolf’. He knew in his soul that it was only an animal.

 

It didn’t have the eyes of a hungry three-year-old.

 

 


End file.
